


Vitamin

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ficlet, M/M, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 18:04:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13793178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: They stop at a motel, and Noctis is hungry.





	Vitamin

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for anon’s “Only those close to the royal family know that the Lucii are vampires. Although they can still eat normal food, there are maids in the castle specifically hired to "supplement" their diets. When it comes for Noctis to go on a road trip, they need to hire someone for that purpose. Prompto volunteers. +1000 if they were already pining for each other, and having "feeding time" get really awkward +100000 if Noctis offers to drink from his wrist instead bc the neck-thing is too much of a hickey, and Prompto refuses. Bc it's his wrist. :) +1000000000 if Noctis' laziness makes him drink from Prompto while they're still in bed, and he doesn't want to get up” prompt on [the FFXV kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4398.html?thread=8414254#cmt8414254).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He comes out of the shower feeling better than he has in days—even if he is still suffering a mild case of exhaustion. It feels like they’ve been on hunts for a week straight, ones that required running hard across the plains through cracks and hills the Regalia couldn’t handle. It’s a relief to step out into the worn-down hotel room, so far below the splendor of the palace, but better than Prompto’s old home, and better still than the tents they’ve otherwise survived in. Showers have become a luxury. Ignis must still be out shopping for supplies, but as soon as Prompto’s clear of the bathroom doorway, Gladiolus is going on in after him. The door clicks shut, and Prompto’s left in the cramped, dimly lit open. From one of the four narrow beds, Noctis lazily calls, “Prompto.”

Prompto’s breath hitches from that alone. He thinks he knows why Noctis would call him now, when the two of them are alone at the end of a hard week, and he guiltily hopes he’s right—that his prince is _hungry_. He probably shouldn’t. It probably makes him _weird_ , and at the very least, a bad friend. He hopes for it anyway.

He wanders over. Noctis is tucked under the blankets, always on the verge of sleep and looking extra tired now. Already down to just his jeans and shirt—wristband included—Prompto lifts up the corner of the covers and slips underneath, settling onto the mattress in the tiny space that’s left. He’s thin enough to make it, but their knees still touch, and Prompto has to curl in his arms. It’s nice that Ignis gets them four beds when they do this, but Prompto kind of wishes they’d have to make do with two or three. 

He mumbles, “S’up, buddy?” He can see the little red flecks permeating Noctis’ half-lidded eyes. 

Noctis averts his gaze. He looks begrudging, but he admits, “I’m thirsty.”

Prompto knew it. He wants to scoot closer, but there’s no real room for it—not without pressing himself right against Noctis, and he knows it’s not his place to start that. He just pushes the blankets down enough to offer up his neck, tilting his chin aside. He sees the way Noctis’ eyes dart to it, like twin moths drawn to a flame. Noctis parts his lips, then runs his tongue over them. They look parched. Prompto knows what they want. The monsters they catch aren’t enough, and daemon blood is black and gross.

But Noctis wrenches his eyes away and says, “Maybe not there. Last time, I gave you a bruise that looked... well, Gladio kept teasing that it looked like a hickey...”

“I don’t mind,” Prompto immediately promises. He really doesn’t. It was worth the teasing: to bear a physical mark of Noctis’ touch, that he got to eye in the mirror and finger for a vivid reminder. 

“I could try your wrist...” Noctis goes on, and he fishes beneath the blankets, hands finding Prompto’s. There’s a brief moment where Prompto _panics_ , because Noctis’ searching fingers slip over his palm, tips nudging at the wristband, and Prompto jerks that hand away. 

He gives a shaky, “Nah,” and lies through his teeth: “it’ll hurt more there.” Noctis frowns and really _looks_ at him. Sometimes, Prompto thinks Noctis _knows_. Maybe he’s known everything about Prompto all along. Maybe Ignis gave him a hefty file, complete with a background check, the day after he brought Prompto home. But Noctis, blessedly, doesn’t say anything.

He just mutters, “Alright,” and shifts closer. He slots right up against Prompto, chest to chest, sandwiched close. The heat gets to Prompto _fast_.

He tilts his chin away again, lolling his head across the pillow, shoulder rolling back to expose as much skin as possible. One of Noctis’ hands curls over Prompto’s bicep, the other slipping beneath his waist, just holding him in—as though to pin him down should he try to escape, even though he never would. He was briefed before that it would cause damage if he did—if he pulled himself away before Noctis properly let him go. He swallowed and nodded and didn’t say that he’d _never_ pull away from Noctis. But they’ve only actually done it twice now. Both times in the Regalia, parked out of sight, Gladiolus and Ignis politely off on the look out. Then Prompto would crawl into Noctis’ lap, and Noctis sucked him in and _drank_.

This is more intimate. Maybe it’s just Noctis being lazy. But the intimacy of it does make Prompto’s pulse race. Noctis’ mouth opens over him, wet and hot and making Prompto shiver in anticipation. He feels Noctis’ spongy tongue lave over him, the saliva prickling and strangely numbing all at once, and then Noctis mumbles, “Sorry.” And before Prompto can insist _it’s fine_ , Noctis is diving in.

There’s a small pinprick of pain when Noctis’ razor-sharp fangs first breach his skin. Prompto grits his teeth and clamps down on a whimper, fist tensing at his sides, even as the sting swiftly dissipates. Noctis sinks in slowly, gracefully, and even though it should hurt _more_ as Prompto’s stretched around the full girth of his fangs, the dull soreness is no match for the sick satisfaction it gives Prompto to do this. Ignis told him there’s some measure of an aphrodisiac that’s released into the victim in exchange for all the blood taken, but Prompto thinks it’s more than that. He thinks that he _likes it_ , and that makes the ache so _worth it_.

He knows he would’ve volunteered for the job even if the crown hadn’t offered to pay him to be Noctis’ traveling blood bank. He would’ve done it out of friendship alone—he could never let Noctis starve—but he also did it for his own shameful fantasies. He was always jealous of the maids in the castle who got to supplement Noctis’ diet before, always annoyed when Noctis sent him away to feed, then horribly _turned on_ the few times Noctis let him stay to watch. The maids never seemed to like it. They steeled over and did their duty to their prince. But when Prompto feeds Noctis—

Noctis bites down _hard_ , and Prompto moans, arching forward. Noctis wraps fiercely around him, seeming to grow in strength and fervour with every passing second. He sucks up Prompto’s blood like so much water, and a part of Prompto knows that his dizziness is a symptom of that, but the rest of him is sure it’s because _Nocits_ is all over him. Noctis latches on and sucks at Prompto’s throat, hands tracing Prompto’s sides and back as he crushes Prompto against him. Prompto’s shaking in no time. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to hold Noctis back, even if he thought he could. He gets too light headed to even worry over whether or not Noctis can feel how _hard_ he’s getting. But then, maybe there’s not enough blood left to make that too evident. Prompto would give it all to Noctis. 

But too soon, Noctis pulls out. It’s always too soon. He slides free with a slick, wet pop and a soft tongue quickly following, lapping over the wound. It barely hurts. Prompto lies there, panting and spacey, as Noctis tends to him. That part, Noctis can’t seem to help. He licks at Prompto like an animal locked in ritual, and then he’s nuzzling into Prompto instead. He even groans, slurring the words, “Sorry I took so much again... you just taste so _good_...”

It takes Prompto a second to manage, “Happy to help.” He can’t even lift his head off the pillow. Noctis stops squirming against him long enough to catch his eye. And then they’re trapped there. Noctis’ pupils are just as dilated as Prompto’s must be. Noctis’ irises are almost completely crimson, but Prompto knows they’ll fade again, like they always do. They’re just as beautiful either way. Noctis stares into him, then glances at his lips.

There’s a gentle, magical moment where Prompto could swear they’re going to kiss. They hover just short of one another, Noctis fully restored and Prompto to thank for it. Then Noctis leans in, and Prompto’s tilting up.

But the bathroom door bangs open again, and Noctis pauses. He looks over his shoulder, to where Gladiolus is grumbling, “Hardly any hot water left—thanks a lot, kid.” He shoots Prompto a look that would have Prompto hiding if he could move.

He offers a sheepish, “Sorry.”

Noctis grunts, “Go easy on him—he has to be clean for me.” 

Gladiolus’ face scrunches up. Maybe he can’t argue with that. They’re all there for Noctis, after all, and Prompto’s the one whose skin he’s licking. But there’s no chance given to argue anyway—Noctis turns away and back to Prompto. He and nudges Prompto, guiding him to roll over. Prompto does, until he’s on his side and facing out.

Noctis pulls him back and spoons him tight. It has Prompto blushing from head to toe, but hopefully the room’s too dark to notice. Gladiolus doesn’t say anything, just buzzes off to bed. Not too long after, Ignis returns, sporting two shopping bags. He spares a second look at Noctis’ bed, but not a third. 

Then he shuts the lights off properly, and Prompto’s left in Noctis’ arms, hazily dreaming of the next time his prince is hungry.


End file.
